Author: Jonah
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Sentry
Late at night, a moment:a sentry spotted, armoredin the rainHis visor closed overhis deepest scars. Not ofbattle…but troubled mind.The chaos of the wind soothedHim.So he stood out, within
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Not drowning
Lost in the shallow end I guessone could say…could whisperNot drowning, water only at myknees–I can walk, swim evendrift along on my back.The sun bakes, warms, soothesI use its sky’s blue glowFor comfort and orderto guide my feet below A hazy refraction
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Sonnet #1
What does thine own steel suit of armor shield?Not feelings now or thoughts avowed by meOr future heartache that I try to yieldA special moment when heart flutters seek “Protection”, I laugh with such outward smileShow me the chink or dent in this suit wornOf which scar caused by glancing blow the whileMy joyful state
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Warm gaze
warm gaze of sunrise on the bloom of backwood lake her eye’s beauty struck
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Condensation
condensation;dew springs on grassblades of the heart sealed now by the sun
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Passion rears its ugly head
Passion rears its ugly head for time presented, a time foretold A rose of Sharon, slowly peeks its petals to passerby Its scent not sickly sweet but calms the mind questions it “Why have you passed me by?” “Why come back to me now?” She says this without words but prompts mine own hardened mind.
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When twelve stars hang
When twelve stars hang as spindles from the veil, and sun and moon rise as one the astronomer’s careful sight will be dismantled. So too for oil artist’s eye for color — symmetry, a tiger chasing its own striped tail, or witness to tragedy which permeated one’s own mind. Togetherness too, lost but at once
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Reference not the stillness
Reference not the stillnessof the windOr a lack of stirring in your heartFor its beat is unrelenting, singingtirelessly in response to that which callsall MenAnd the drooping of droughted treewhich bears no fruitGrows closer now to creationfor it provides a cooling shade.But when winter comes,drooping tree provides shadeno moreSo should we reject its cold and
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On crooked road
On crooked road and wandering path I fell — my feet cracked, worn soles My lips dry with thirst for your Word upon my lips Tears welled in my eyes, suffering But you were there too! Though road and path seemed to wave and turn, crest and crash They were laid by you It is
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White sand
On plains of white sand the grains crackle — trampled under foot The wind unseen swirls vivid imagery on the breeze of blurry, distant dunes I make out forms though they present to me shapeless, morphing things which only sometimes seem to guide to my petition But always to my refuge and my fortress